


Unconditional

by jakia



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakia/pseuds/jakia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A parent’s love for their child should be unconditional.  Moments in the life of Blaine Anderson, as told by the two men who loved him long before Kurt ever did.  Gen, Anderson family fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconditional

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think that Blaine’s dad is not a horrible person, but rather a clueless one who has absolutely no idea how to relate to either of his sons. After all, Blaine has to get his failboat-ness from somewhere, right?
> 
> RESEARCH: because I did do research for this fic.
> 
> Blaine and his family live on Hampton Court in Lima, Ohio, because those looked like nice houses and I could picture Blaine living there. See also: I googlemapped the crap out of Real Life Lima. It’s also a decent amount away from where I imagine most of McKinley life is, so I can easily imagine him living in Lima all his life and never running into anyone from McKinley.
> 
> Blaine’s mother works, in my head, as an associate professor of Psychology for the Bowling State University, in Bowling Green, Ohio, which is an hour away from Lima. It’s a long comminute, but not unheard of, and would sort of explain why, even if Blaine has a mother who loves him more than life itself, she might be absent often. National average for a psychology professor is $65,000.
> 
> Blaine’s father is an attorney who works in Lima. The average salary for a lawyer in Lima, Ohio specifically is $83,000 a year.
> 
> Needless to say, Blaine’s family probably has money.
> 
> Part of why I put Blaine’s house on Hampton Court is because it’s close to a country club, which is probably a place where Blaine could play polo, fencing, etc.
> 
> It’s also about five minutes from a Catholic school.
> 
> Why put Blaine in a Catholic school? Because I think it explains a lot about him, actually. Blaine has this people-pleasing personality: he wants to be liked, and he wants to be whatever everyone else wants him to be. I also just really want the show to address Blaine’s spirituality at some point in time, because unlike Kurt, Blaine strikes me as someone who is innately spiritual, if not religious. Plus the concept of spirituality vs. sexuality is very interesting to me as a writer.
> 
> And, you know, a gay kid in a Catholic school probably makes for some good angst.
> 
> In my head, the Warbler council is made up of three people: a senior, a junior, and a sophomore, which is why David and Thad are still at Dalton in S3 but Wes is not. Wes was the senior representative, meaning he graduated.
> 
> Name game: Blaine’s middle names are Thomas (American) and Crisanto (Filipino). If I had to pick only one, I’d go with Crisanto for two reasons: 1) cultural heritage! 2) Crisanto means “golden flower”, which works for two things--Blaine means “yellow” so gold=yellow, yes I can work with this. The second is that I just like the idea that Blaine’s middle name means flower.
> 
> Blaine’s birthday is also the same birthday as Darren Criss’s (Feb 5th), which, coincidentally, is also my own birthday. 
> 
> About Blaine and the models: a friend of mine does this. He has absolutely no artistic talent at all whatsoever, but he loves painting models. I figured that would be something fun for Blaine to do, especially since he does, in fact, have model cars in his room.
> 
> About character personalities: my headcanon is that Mrs. Anderson is a bamf, Mr. Anderson is more conservative, Blaine is emotionally-stunted, and Cooper was Santana in another life. Canon will probably prove me wrong on all of the above, but that’s what fanfiction is for, right?
> 
> A million and one thanks to my two betas, M and buckeyegirl. Without them, this fic would make much less sense.

  
I don't know any parents that look into the eyes of a newborn baby and say,  _how can we screw this kid up?_  
  
                                            -[ _Russell Bishop_](http://www.quoteland.com/author/Russell-Bishop-Quotes/3142/)  
  
Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get–only with what you are expecting to give–which is everything.

  
_\--_ _[Katherine Hepburn](http://lovequotes.symphonyoflove.net/katharine-hepburn-love-quotes-and-love-sayings.html) _   


* * *

 

1

  
This is the story of how Blaine Anderson came into the world:  
  
In January 1993, Mark Anderson hires a Filipino woman named Maria Castillo as his personal secretary.  She is a beautiful, intelligent, quick-witted young woman, who loves music and art, and is working at his firm to put herself through college.  She has the slightest bit of a Filipino accent that Mark finds absolutely charming, and she just—she brings this  _light_  into his life.  He didn’t even know it was dark, before.  
  
She’s also fifteen years younger than him, so he tries to keep his thoughts to himself.  
  
(He also has a wife and a son; those things should be more important than his secretary’s age, but for some reason, he thinks of them last.)  
  
In June of 1993, his relationship with Ms. Castillo becomes sexual; romantic.  It becomes the secret everyone knows but no one talks about.  
  
That’s not the scandal, though.  
  
Men have affairs with their secretaries; that’s not really _news_.  Especially when the secretary in question is young and exotic and can  _sing_ , bringing music into an otherwise lifeless office.  
  
The scandal comes in May of 1994, when Maria tells Mark that she’s pregnant.  
  
(He tries to convince her, only once, to have an abortion.  She slaps him in the face and doesn’t come back into work, leaving his life dark and empty and unorganized once more.)  
  
So Mark reacts.  First, he talks to his wife;  her reaction is about what he expected, though not for the reasons he thought.  She doesn’t care that he’s cheated on her, or that he’s been cheating on her for the past year.  No, what Jamie Anderson cares about is the fact that her husband has knocked up some sort of  _ethnic whore_ , and “good God, Mark, what are people going to  _say_  about that?  Why don’t you ever think about me and  _my_  reputation, Mark?”  
  
(Cooper Anderson, age eight, wants to know why his parents are fighting, considering they normally don’t even bother to talk.)  
  
Mark knows in that moment what he must do.  Not because he and his wife don’t love each other and never really have, but because Maria is not a whore.  But because of her ethnicity, because they aren’t married, because she’s a woman, because she’s fifteen years younger than him, because she’s his  _secretary_ \--people are going to assume that she is, and she doesn’t deserve that.  
  
He’s not sure what she deserves (the world, if he could give it to her) but she deserves more than that.  
  
So he does the right thing.  He files for divorce.  He tells his son that  _it’s not about you.  Sometimes people just drift apart.  I still love you, even if it feels like I’m replacing you._   He calls his parents and tells them what’s going on, and his mother screams almost the exact same things Jamie screamed at him--about his reputation and an  _ethnic whore_  half his age who only wants him for his money, who is only having his baby because that means she won’t have to work for eighteen years while living off of his child support checks.  
  
He camps outside of Maria’s one-room apartment for three days; she finally lets him inside when it starts raining.  It’s been a little while since he’s seen her, and she’s gotten bigger.  Only slightly, but he can sort of see where there’s a little person growing inside of her, the slight curve of her belly a little larger.  
  
He tries to give her the same ring Jamie threw at his head, and she threatens to kick him out again.  
  
She tells him this: “I didn’t come to America to be someone’s housewife--I’m going to finish school.  I’m almost done with my master’s, anyway, and it’s just two more years after that before I finally get my doctorate.”  
  
He nods.  “I know, I understand.  I wouldn’t ask that of you, anyway.”  
  
She rubs her belly.  “And I’m  _not_  killing my baby, Mark Anderson.  I can’t believe you would even suggest that.”  
  
“I know, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it.”  He tries to place his hands on her stomach, but she smacks his hand away instead.  
  
“Yes, you did,” she accuses him, and he knows better than to try and lie to her again.  She squeezes his hand into her own.  “But you can never mean it again.  Because our son deserves better than a father who thinks he’s a mistake, and if you don’t want to be a part of this, then that’s fine.  Blaine and I will figure out a way to make it on our own.”  
  
His fingertips light trail the edge of her stomach.  “Blaine?”  
  
She nods.  “The baby.  That’s what I’m naming him, if it’s a boy.”  She presses his hand flat against her stomach.  He doesn’t feel anything—he can’t, at this point, the baby is really nothing more than a collection of cells starting to form into a fetus. But there is life there, growing and thriving, even if it isn’t fully formed and really  _there_  yet.  
  
She kisses him gently.  “I’m twenty six.  I’m not too young, and I’m not stupid.  I know how difficult this will be by myself.  But I will if I have to, because Blaine and I both deserve a hundred percent, and if you can’t give us that, then you can find somewhere else to sleep at night.”  
  
He kisses her and promises her a hundred and  _ten_  percent, because how can he not?  He loves her, and for her, he would give the world.

* * *

  
  
2

  
On January 31st, 1995, Mark and Maria Anderson, newly wedded and heavily pregnant, move into a house on Hampton Court in Lima, Ohio.  Lima is perhaps not the city of their dreams, or even the best place for new beginnings, but Mark finds a job there, with good pay and decent benefits.  Its three hours away from where his ex-wife and son live in Detroit, but only a little over an hour away from the university where Maria plans to enroll for her doctorate in the fall.  It’s a cozy little town, not nearly as busy as Detroit but not exactly provincial, either.  There’s a Taco Bell right down the street from their house, and at least three different schools where they could enroll their son.  
  
It’s nice.  It’s a good place to start over.  They can be happy here.  
  
Five days later, Blaine Thomas Crisanto Anderson is born, six pounds three ounces, two weeks early with a powerful set of lungs and a wild mess of dark curls.  
  
They hadn’t even finished unpacking yet.

 

* * *

 

  
3

  
The first time Cooper Anderson ever thinks of Blaine as anything other than  _the little bastard who tore my family a part,_  Blaine is seven years old and crying his eyes out.  
  
Cooper, age sixteen, is staying with his dad and stepmom and half-brother because A) he’s supposed to for at least two weeks in the summer according to the divorce agreement, and B) Dad wants him to check out the university Maria works at, so he could maybe live with them and just commute to school after he graduates.  
  
Cooper Anderson wants to say,  _fuck you, Dad_ , but doesn’t.  
  
As far as stepfamilies go, Maria could be a lot worse.  She at least seems willing to acknowledge that she ruined his life, even if she’s doesn’t act particularly guilty about it.  
  
Actually, if he’s being completely honest, Maria is sort of cool, in that she remembers what being sixteen is like better than Dad does.  She also has good taste in music and she lets him have a lot more freedom than Mom or Dad.  
  
(Mostly, she doesn’t try to act like Cooper’s mom.  He appreciates that.)    
  
The worst part about Maria, though, is that she’s always trying to make him spend time with the little bastard.  She’s always trying to get them to act like they’re brothers, like they’re  _family_  or something.  Fuck that.  Blaine’s just this obnoxious, snot-nosed kid, the reason his parents got a divorce.  They may share a Dad, but they aren’t a family.  They aren’t even the same ethnicity.  
  
But Cooper is still only sixteen, which means that he sometimes has to do things he doesn’t want to do, and that includes babysitting his half-brother for an afternoon.  
  
Blaine’s a pretty self-reliant little kid, though, so Cooper only has to sort of watch him.  Lima may be a piss-poor town in the dead end of nowhere, but they still have girls there,  _pretty_  girls, who are easy and dumb and willing to open their legs for smooth-talking big-city boys like Cooper, who act like gentlemen and are really anything but.  He’s trying to chat up a blonde in a cheerleading skirt when he hears Blaine scream.  
  
And Cooper—if anyone should hate Blaine, it should be Cooper, Blaine ruined  _everything_ —but he’s so little, and dumb, and  _nice,_  he really is a nice little kid; one of the sweetest kids Cooper has ever met.  
  
Why would anyone push him down like that?  
  
So Blaine is lying down in the sand with a scraped knee, crying his eyes out, and the kid who pushed him (a little Asian girl in pigtails) is mouthing off to him in a broken mixture of English and Not English, meaning Cooper only understands about every other word that comes out of her mouth.  Another little boy--maybe her brother, he looks a little older-- is standing beside her, and grabs her hand.  “Malaya, he didn’t mean it like that; he’s just a  _hapa_ , he didn’t know what it means.”  
  
Cooper doesn’t know what a  _hapa_  is, or why Blaine is one, but he does know that the kid says it like it’s an insult.  Something hot and angry bubbles beneath Cooper’s skin at the implication. Blaine is just a  _kid_ , just a little boy, and he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve to be hurt or insulted just because his mom isn’t white or his dad isn’t Filipino.  
  
So Cooper does what he can, swooping down and scooping Blaine up into his arms, the cheerleader forgotten.  Blaine cries into his chest, and Cooper turns to the two kids and tells them point-blank that they may both be bigger than Blaine, but Cooper is bigger than either of them, so  _leave my brother alone._  
  
The two kids run off after that, scared or distracted or both, but Cooper doesn’t really care.  He takes Blaine over to where the first aid station is in the garage, and washes the sand out of the scrape on his knee.  He puts Neosporin on the wound, sealing it up with a Band-Aid that’s got  little robots on it, which makes Blaine stop crying and actually start giggling.  
  
Then Cooper takes him and buys him an ice cream cone, and tries not to think about why he  _cares_  so much.

* * *

  
  
4

  
Cooper does, in fact, attend the university his father wants, but not really because his father wants him to.  He does it mostly because Maria is a professor there now and that means he can get discounted tuition, and because the university has an amazing theatre program, but mostly he does it for Blaine.  
  
He’s just so  _little_.  And Maria and Dad, they’re—they’re better than he thought they’d be, honestly, but they’re both sort of workaholics, which means Blaine gets left alone a lot.  And that’s not right, not really.  
  
So Cooper lives at home rather than in a dorm, and he picks his little brother up from school every day, which means he sees, before Maria, before Dad, how badly Blaine gets bullied sometimes.  
  
(He goes to a  _Catholic school_ ; aren’t there  _rules_  about that sort of thing?)  
  
But Blaine—Blaine’s a  _weird_  kid, and Cooper means that in the most affectionate way possible. When left to his own devices, Blaine’s hobbies are art, photography, theatre, music, horses, and robots, all of which are okay but not when you are  _eleven_ , when you are supposed to be noticing girls for the first time.  He’s also very particular about his clothes, which is odd in a way Cooper tries not to think about, in a way that might make other boys not like him so much.  
  
He does like sports, though, so Cooper tries to encourage that as much as possible—takes him to football games, teaches him how to throw a punch, encourages him to try out for sports teams, anything to make him seem more  _normal_ , because if Blaine is friendless and teased in middle school then high school is going to be  _hell_.  
  
He catches Blaine reading a fashion magazine, and wonders if he’ll even make it that far.

* * *

  
  
  
5

  
Which means, of course, that Cooper Anderson gets the distinct pleasure of being the first person Blaine ever comes out to.  
  
Their parents aren’t home yet, and the house is quiet and dark and perfect for studying, and Cooper is knee-deep into a research paper when Blaine knocks on his bedroom door, timid and quiet.  Cooper is tempted to tell him to go away, he’s busy, but he looks so  _small_  standing there against the door, so Cooper invites him in anyway.  “Come on in. What’s up?”  
  
Blaine curls up on Cooper’s bed,  _Spiderman_  pajamas still a little too big on him, his glasses on with curls bouncing around his face.  He’s so young, so little, and even though he’ll be thirteen in a couple of months he still seems so  _small_ , surely Cooper wasn’t that small when he was thirteen, was he?  
  
(When Cooper was thirteen, he wore all black and hated his father.  Now he’s twenty and wears more blue than black, and hates his father less than he thought possible at thirteen years old.)  
  
Blaine’s quiet, though, just sitting on the corner of Cooper’s bed, taking up as little space as possible.  Cooper rolls his eyes because seriously,  _research paper_ , but he gives Blaine his space and the silent comfort of his brother’s room.  
  
Finally, Blaine speaks up.  “What’s a fag?”  
  
Cooper blinks.  “What?”  
  
“Fag.  F-a-g, short for—“  
  
“I know what it means,” Cooper blurts out.  “Why do you want to know?”  
  
Blaine hugs his knees to his chest.  “Because it was written on my locker this morning.”  
  
“ _What?_  Blaine, you can’t let them do that, that’s—“  
  
Blaine doesn’t stop, though.  “And Mr. Godfrey in second period gave us a lecture about how God hates fags and how they’re going to burn in hell and I just, I don’t  _understand_ , God’s supposed to love everyone, He’s  _God_ , if He wanted to hate someone why would He even make them in the first place—“  
  
 _“Blaine--_ ”  
  
“—and why would He hate  _me._ ” The last part comes out as a choked sob, and before Cooper really knows what he’s doing he’s on the bed beside Blaine, holding him as he sobs quietly into Cooper’s university sweatshirt.  Cooper lets him cry it out, the house silent around them for several long minutes; only Blaine’s sobs breaking up the monotony of the darkness.  
  
He lets Blaine get quiet again before he asks what he really wants to know.  

“Are you gay, Blaine?  It’s okay if you are; I just want to know.”  
  
Blaine gets quiet again, and he sniffles a little bit before he answers.  “I think so.  I don’t—I don’t like girls, like that.  Like I’m supposed to.”  
  
What Cooper wants to say is,  _You’re twelve.  What do you know about sex, about sexuality? You probably still think girls have cooties._  
  
But Cooper also remembers being twelve, and  _noticing_  girls for the very first time, and how weird it would be if he didn’t when all of his friends did, how that could make you feel different, alien and strange.  
  
What he says instead is, “But you like boys, though?  Like, you want to kiss them and stuff?”  
  
Blaine’s face turns red, but he doesn’t look ashamed.  Not really.  “I think so.  I mean, I’ve never kissed a boy but I think—I think I’d like to.”  
  
Cooper hugs his little brother tightly.  “If that makes you happy, then I’m happy for you, Blaine.”  He pulls him just a little closer.  “Don’t listen to the kids at school, okay? They just don’t know how to act, they’ve only ever been taught to hate.”  
  
Blaine lifts his head up, looking a little brighter.  “And Mr. Godfrey?”  
  
“Is a stupid old man trying to scare you into being just like everyone else, rather than just being yourself.  Don’t listen to him; he shouldn’t even be talking about that kind of stuff in school anyway.”  
  
“And Dad?” Blaine asks, quietly.  “Do you think Dad will—be okay with all of this?”  
  
And Cooper honestly doesn’t know the answer.  Dad’s never been  _outwardly_  homophobic, but Dad’s also a Republican and sent his youngest son to a Catholic school, so there’s really no telling.  It’s one thing to be accepting of gays and lesbians who you meet out in the world, but it’s quite another to be understanding of one who lives in your own house.  
  
So Cooper doesn’t say anything at all.  He just holds his brother, and thinks that his professor will just have to accept “family emergency” as the reason why his research paper isn’t done, because there’s no way he’s writing anything else tonight.

* * *

  
  
6

  
  
“I think Blaine’s gay.”  
  
Mark spits his coffee across the table.  
  
It’s a late morning in the Anderson household, but a quiet one, with Maria and Blaine already off to school.  Usually Mark and Cooper would be gone already, too, but Cooper’s morning class got canceled and so did Mark’s early morning meeting, so the two older Anderson men were just enjoying a quiet breakfast--at least until Cooper opened his mouth.  
  
Mark tries to wipe down the kitchen table with a rag and mostly just succeeds in getting coffee all over his tie.  “What makes you say that?”  
  
Cooper shrugs, setting down his bowl of cereal on a coffee-less spot on the table.  “I don’t know.  I just don’t think he likes girls very much.”  
  
Mark suspects, in that moment, that Cooper knows more, but isn’t quite willing to share this information.  
  
Mark finishes wiping down the table and sighs.  “He’s still young.  He probably doesn’t even know what he likes yet.”  
  
Cooper shrugs again, engulfing another bite of cereal.  “Maybe.  But when I was thirteen, girls were all I could think about.  I just don’t think Blaine’s the same.”  He takes another bite of his cereal.  “That wouldn’t be a problem, would it?  If Blaine was gay?  I mean, you wouldn’t kick him out of the house or anything, would you?”  
  
“Of course not.” Mark says automatically, because the idea of kicking Blaine out--for  _whatever_  reason, he could want to have sex with his  _horse_  and Mark would still love him—is not something Mark even wants to consider.  “I don’t know what I’d do, to be honest.  I’ve never really thought about it.”  
  
What he wants to say is:  _Blaine can’t be gay-- he likes football._  
  
What he wants to say is:  _Blaine’s just a late bloomer, that’s all.  Don’t worry--before too long he’ll be completely girl crazy and we’ll be sick of him._  
  
What he wants to say is:  _Oh God, what if he **is**  gay? I don’t know what to do with a gay son!_  
  
What he doesn’t say, what he doesn’t even want to admit he thinks, is:  _I hope he’s not gay.  His life is going to be so hard if he is. God, please, don’t let my son be gay._  
  
He doesn’t say anything, though--just pours himself another cup of coffee, and thinks that he’ll deal with it if it comes down to it.  It does no one any good to be worrying about it now.

 

* * *

  
7

  
Only the next time Mark Anderson thinks about his youngest son’s sexuality, it’s because his Blaine is comatose, beaten and bloody with his head swollen, unable to wake up _._  
  
The police try to question them about who they think did this, who is responsible, but Mark has no answers for them, has no words at all, because this is the last thing he ever thought would happen to one of his kids.  He had no idea it was ever going to be this bad.  
  
(That’s because fourteen-year-old Blaine Anderson doesn’t come out to his parents, but is rather forced out of it via traumatic brain injury.  He’s out at school, out to his friends, out to his brother, but it’s a conversation that has never happened at home.  He tried, once, but then his mother asked him about something else and the time just wasn’t right.  
  
(Instead, his parents find out he’s gay while his brain is trying to leak out of his skull, because three Catholic boys took offense to another boy going to a dance with a friend; because those boys had the  _audacity_  to like boys and not be ashamed about it.  
  
(His parents are so out of touch; they didn’t even know he was going to a dance, much less that he was gay.)

* * *

  
  
8

  
Cooper Anderson isn’t there when Blaine gets his head busted in and almost dies.  In fact, Cooper isn’t even in Lima, or Dayton, or anywhere he’s supposed to be.  Instead, he’s halfway out of Ohio and working his way to getting as shitfaced as possible.  And if you ever need a reason to get shitfaced, running away from home is a good one.  His phone’s not off, but the bar is loud and crazy, and he’s busy doing body shots off a stripper--it’s not like he really  _hears_  it the first sixteen times it goes off.  
  
He answers on the seventeenth ring, though.  It’s his Dad.  “Hey, Dad, did you get my message?  I dropped out.  I’m leaving this cowtown, gonna go be a movie star—“  
  
“ _Where the hell are you?”_  
  
He doesn’t sound happy.  Cooper hiccups into the phone.  “I’m almost to Kentucky or some shit, hello to you, too, can’t you even  _pretend_  like you’re proud of me or something—“  
  
 _“Your brother is in the **hospital** , James Cooper Anderson._”  Oh God, it sounds like Dad is  _crying_ ; what happened?  “ _He’s in intensive care, at St. Rita’s.  Get a cab if you aren’t sober enough to drive yourself to the airport, but just **get**  here.”_  
  
Cooper already has his coat on, waving off his new drinking buddies and trying to walk in a straight line long enough to get someone to call him a cab.  “What happened?  What’s wrong with Blaine?”  
  
 _“He got beat up.  He went to a dance with a boy, and he got beat up.”_   It occurs to Cooper that his father sounds  _scared_ \--his father, the man who acts like he doesn’t feel  _anything_ , sounds fucking terrified, and how messed up is that?   _“They aren’t sure he’s going to wake back up, he’s lost so much blood, oh God._ ”  
  
He can hear Maria in the background (“My baby, my  _baby_ ”) and feels sick to his stomach.  His little brother might be dying--his  _baby brother_ , little Blaine, might not ever wake up.  What was he trying to get away from, again?  It can’t possibly matter anymore.  
  
 _“Why didn’t you tell me he was gay?  You knew, didn’t you?”_   He did.  He  _did_  know, but that’s not  _fair_ , it wasn’t his secret to tell.   _“Why didn’t you tell us?  His friend here is telling us he’s been bullied for months, and no one’s ever said anything to us._ You _didn’t say anything to us. Fuck, neither did he.”_   His Dad chokes back another sob, and every image Cooper has ever had of his father as this heartless, soulless automaton vanishes in an instant.   _“Why didn’t he tell us, Cooper?  We would have done something.  We would have—we would have—“_  
  
Cooper gives the cab driver a hundred dollar bill to drive as fast as he can.

* * *

  
  
9

  
Blaine doesn’t wake up the next day.  Or the day after that.  Or the day after that.  
  
And that’s the worst part, about being the parent of a kid in a coma.  It’s seeing your baby bloody and bruised and being told he might never wake up.  It’s being told that three boys hated your baby enough that they essentially tried to kill them.  It’s nursing so many questions, and only having a sleeping boy who could, but can’t, answer them.  
  
It’s the waiting, and not knowing whether you should hold on to hope, or start planning a funeral.  
  
From November to March, Blaine sleeps, and his family waits.  Mark and Maria, when they aren’t standing vigil at Blaine’s bedside, interrogate every person they can get their hands on, starting with Cooper and ending with the boy Blaine brought to the dance.  They threaten to sue Lima Catholic High into the  _ground_ for what Blaine went through, but it’s a private school, and there is little they can actually  _do_  to a school that makes its own rules.  
  
(And their principal, who acts like Blaine doesn’t matter, like being gay is something Blaine chose, like he  _deserved_  to be beaten almost to death; Maria has to hold her husband back from punching him in the face.)  
  
Mark, meanwhile, does what he can.   He does research.  
  
And while no one has actually sat down and written, specifically, “How to Be a Good Dad to your Gay Teenaged Son,” they have written articles, and there are forums filled to the brim with people going through the same thing as the Andersons, who offer up their own advice and suggestions.  He learns about the suicide risks (oh God, Blaine is a  _suicide risk_ , what if he had--? That would be so much  _worse._ )  and the It Gets Better project and gay marriage and what he can do to make it better and what he  _shouldn’t_  do to make it worse, and it’s just--it’s a lot of information to take in at once.  Mark soaks through it all like a sponge, but even then it doesn’t quite feel like enough, especially since Blaine still hasn’t woken up.  
  
The best advice comes from a man whose daughter is already dead, killed in a gaybashing three years ago.  His advice is to spend time with your kids, get to know them, and show them that you love and support them.  
  
This would be fine, except Mark is starting to learn that he knows  _nothing_  about his youngest son.  He goes to Blaine’s room at home and takes everything in, trying to figure out something about his son.    
  
The first thing he notices is the dresser full of trophies.  Some of them are familiar, like the one of the Allen County Spelling Bee, or the polo trophy, but the majority of them are new, still shiny and bright and unfamiliar.  There are a lot of music trophies, which takes Mark back because when did Blaine start liking music?  More importantly, when did he become good enough at it to win trophies?  --There are others, too--ones for fencing, ones for polo, one for tennis (Jesus, when did Blaine start playing tennis?) and art and a couple of other academic ones.  Mark feels a surge of pride suddenly, because when did his kid get so  _good_  at this stuff?  
  
There are other interesting things in Blaine’s room, too.  There are very old film cameras, and books that are probably way too advanced for Blaine’s age, and little robots and model cars and—  
  
That’s it.  A car.  
  
What sort of fourteen-year-old (no,  _fifteen_ , he’s fifteen now, he’s slept through his fifteenth birthday) doesn’t want a car?  And he obviously likes older cars—maybe Mark can find an older car, and when Blaine gets better, they can work on it together, restoring it, making it good as new.  That would be fun--getting their hands dirty, doing some real manly work. That would be a good bonding experience, something they both could enjoy.  It’d be good for Blaine.  
  
(What Mark doesn’t get is that Blaine doesn’t give two shits about cars--Blaine would be happy driving his mother’s green station wagon.  What Blaine does like is  _models_ , because he likes taking things apart and putting them back together.  The cars, the robots sitting on his dresser--those are  _art_ , things Blaine has painstakingly put together and painted himself in the comfort of his room.)  
  
But Mark doesn’t know that, so when he finds the ’59 Chevy, he buys it before his wife can protest, and when he visits Blaine’s hospital room that afternoon, he squeezes his son’s hand and tells him that he’s just got to wake up soon now, okay, he’s just bought him a car.  
  
He’s just got to wake up now.

* * *

  
  
10

  
Blaine does wake up, on a cold and foggy Ohio morning during the first week of March, and it happens so softly that nobody really notices it at first.  He blinks awake slowly, and it’s not until he turns his head and says “Mama?” in a croaked voice sore from disuse, that anyone realizes he’s  _awake._  
  
Later, Mark will say he could hear Maria’s joyful screams from his office across town.  
  
It’s harder now, though, now that Blaine is awake and alive and  _real_.  There are hugs and tears and  _I love you’s_ going around in spares, but it’s crowded in Blaine’s little room, so the “gay” conversation doesn’t come up quite yet.  
  
But then it’s months of physical therapy, and getting Blaine enrolled in summer school, and taking him to tour Dalton, and more physical therapy, and then actual  _psychological_  therapy, because their son has dealt with a lot recently and Maria just thinks it would be good for him.  
  
Before Mark even realizes it, it’s hot and July and Blaine’s not even going to be living with them in two months, and Mark has yet to say to his son  _so you’re gay, but I love you anyway._  
  
Talking to your kids should be easier than this, he thinks.  
  
But it’s really not.  
  
So instead, on a hot Saturday in July, Mark drags Blaine outside and shows him the old ’59 Chevy, and tells him they’re going to fix it up, just the two of them, and when they get finished rebuilding it, it can be Blaine’s car, so he’ll have something he can drive to and from Dalton.  
  
This is a good idea, Mark thinks.  They’ll bond over this.  And while they’re bonding, they’ll talk, and Mark will be able to say all the things he’s been planning on saying since that awful, awful day when he got a call saying  _Mr. Anderson, your son is in the hospital…_  
  
It doesn’t quite work out that way, though.  It’s  _hot_ , ridiculously so, and Mark’s not the type who is afraid to get his hands a little dirty, but he’s not  _used_  to it, either.  
  
So he’s hot and sweaty, and dirty, and miserable.  Blaine looks like he’d rather be absolutely anywhere else in the world right now.  And it turns out that neither of them really know anything about cars, so that turns into a frustrating experience, too.  
  
They don’t talk, and they certainly don’t bond.  If anything, Mark feels even  _more_  distant to his younger son now.  
  
The Chevy is still in the garage, in pieces.  Mark should really sell it, or get rid of it, or do  _something_  with it, but he can’t quite bear to part with it just yet.  
  
(He can’t stand the idea of  _giving up_  just yet.)

 

* * *

 

11

  
Blaine  _thrives_  in Dalton--Cooper can tell--his brother’s Facebook wall is covered in comments from boys in blue blazers with red piping.   Blaine’s repeating his freshman year at Dalton because of how much school he missed due to the “incident,” but that doesn’t seem to have stopped him from making friends.  He looks so different now, so grown up.  He got tall over the summer (and by ‘tall’ Cooper means no longer  _embarrassingly short_  and can pass as normal-human sized if he holds his shoulders the right way, and whatever, he’s still three inches shorter than Cooper) and no fifteen-year-old boy should actually have to wear a tie every day, but Blaine  _owns_  that shit and looks like some sort of little adult instead of a kid wearing his father’s clothes.  He’s cut his hair, too, and has started gelling it down some, so he looks less like a clown and more…more adult.  
  
Mostly, though, he looks happy, which is why Cooper doesn’t feel very guilty about leaving him behind.

  
  
**Cooper Anderson**  landed a role!  I’m the new spokesperson for FreeCreditReport.com  
                                    19 people like this.  
  
The message, of course, pops up thirty seconds later.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
!!! CONGRADULATIONS!  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
tnx  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Can’t type in full sentences?  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
F u.  im doing like 6 things at once  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
So what sort of role did you land?  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
A commercial!  Gonna be great.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
That’s awesome!  Chicago still everything you hoped and dreamed?  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Um, duh.  I’m coming home next week though to get the rest of my stuff to move into my new apartment.  You know, one I can actually afford now?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Pick a good one!  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Does this mean I get your old room?  ;)  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
You don’t even live there half the time.  What do you need my room for?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Nothing, I guess.  Might be nicer than living in the attic.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
You freaking love living in the attic.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I really do.  So nice and warm compared to the rest of the house! <3  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
So when do I get to come visit you?  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
After we’re done shooting.  How’s Dalton treating you?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Dalton is awesome!  I just joined the Warblers!  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
What the fuck is a warbler?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Glee club!  We’re an a capella group.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Are you serious?  
  
He types  _that is gay as fuck_ but deletes it before he hits send.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Glee club’s pretty lame.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
:0 No!!!  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
The Warblers are awesome!  They’re like rock stars!  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
You just said they’re an acapella group.  There is no way that’s cool.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
A capella.  There’s a space there.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
And we really are cool!  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
If you turn into a grammar nazi I’m going to disown you. Publicly.  And I’m going to be a star.  I can do that now.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
You should come see us perform!  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Sectionals is next Saturday!  Will you be home then?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
And there is nothing wrong with having good grammar.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
What is sectionals and why should I care?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
It’s our competition season!  We compete against different schools so we can go to Regionals.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
That sounds totally not lame  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
And if we win Regionals, we get to go to Nationals!  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
It’s in LA this year!  I could come see you!  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
And if you win Nationals, do you get to go to Internationals?  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
And if you win Internationals, do you get to go to Galaticals where you compete with the whole galaxy?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I think it stops at Nationals.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I don’t know though; let me ask Wes, he’s on the Council.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
You have a Council?!  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
I take it back—that doesn’t sound lame at all  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Sounds badass  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
And I was joking, btw.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Blaine?  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Blaine?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Sorry!  Ran to ask Wes.  It stops at Nationals.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
How fascinating.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
So will you come?  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Maybe.  If I don’t find something cooler to do.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Are the parentals attending?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Mom is.  Not sure about Dad.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
He’s pretty busy.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Not on a Saturday, usually.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
I’ll talk to him.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
No, don’t!  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
He won’t like it.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Why do you say that?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
When I told him I joined Glee, he just said “Isn’t show choir sort of girly?”  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Okay listen to me.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Show choir is pretty girly.  And by girly, I mean super, super gay.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Gee, I sort of *am* super, super gay, thanks.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Don’t get offended, just listen to me for a second.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Yeah, it’s gay.  But if it’s something you like?  Then who gives a fuck.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
I say go for it.  You and your little glee club can go be rockstars  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
And me and your mom will be there to cheer you on.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
:’)  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Thank you.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
You’re welcome.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I don’t think Dad’s okay with me being gay.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I mean, he didn’t kick me out or anything  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
But he did send me to Dalton.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Dalton was my idea, actually.  I thought you were happy there?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I am!  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
It’s just  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Not everyone who goes here boards, you know.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
And those that do board have families in Michigan or Illinois or Kentucky  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Not…not Lima.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
You think Dad sent you to Dalton so he wouldn’t have to deal with you being gay?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I don’t know!  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Maybe?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I mean, he doesn’t ever talk to me.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
And when he does, he always acts like he’s disappointed in me.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
I’m sure that’s not true.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Maybe.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I took up boxing to try and make him happy.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
I thought you liked boxing?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I do!  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Well, my therapist likes that I like to box.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
She says it’s a great way for me to deal with my anger issues in a socially-acceptable way.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
You ever talk to Dr. Shane about Dad?  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
NO  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
*No  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
Besides, I think I’m going to stop seeing her soon.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I’m doing a lot better now.  Even Mom thinks so.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
And I’ve made friends.  Everyone’s so nice here.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
I’m glad, Blaine.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
That’s all we’ve ever wanted, was for you to be safe and happy.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
I am.  Safe.  And happy. :D  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
I’m glad.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
I’m going to come to your singing thing on Saturday.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
And I’ll try to drag Dad along too.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
No, don’t.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
He doesn’t have to come if he doesn’t want to.  
  
The problem, then, is that he  _should_  want to.  He should want to spend time with his son, should want to support him in any way he can.  
  
It isn’t right, and it isn’t fair.  Blaine doesn’t deserve this.  
  
 **Cooper Anderson**  
Love you, baby bro.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  
<3 <3 <3 Love you too, big bro!  
  
It’s not enough, of course, but it—it helps.

  
It has to.

* * *

12

  
Mark Anderson will probably not be winning the Father of the Year award this time around.  
  
But that doesn’t mean he’s not trying.  
  
“No, you aren’t.” Cooper snaps at him, angry and hurt for reasons Mark doesn’t really understand.  “If you were really trying, you’d come to his thing on Saturday.”  
  
“I’m  _busy._ ”  
  
“Not that busy!” Cooper yells, and slams the door behind him.  
  
The silence is painful.

* * *

  
13

  
  
This is what it’s like to be Mark Anderson:  
  
You have two sons, and you love them both.  One is tall and handsome and  _planned_ , popular, mouthy, straight.  He gave you trouble as a child because he always needed attention and he was always getting into trouble, but that’s sort of just who he is.  He’s loud, he’s bossy, he has a temper.  He’s an actor and he’s going to do wonderful things with his life.  It’s not the career you would have chosen for him, but he loves what he’s doing and has managed to pay his own bills. You are so proud.  
  
The other son is quieter and looks like his mother, born early with small bones and sensitive eyes.  Blaine’s the easy one compared to Cooper, or so you used to think.  He practically raised himself.  He’s a nice boy, well-mannered and eager to please.  He’s athletic and smart and artistic in ways you don’t really understand.  You’re proud of him, even if you aren’t very good at saying it.  
  
He’s also gay, and that—that makes things so  _hard._  
  
You’re not homophobic.  You love your son, and you don’t really care who he wants to date.  But you are so scared for him—it wasn’t too long ago that you were sitting beside his hospital bed trying to make him wake up by sheer force of will.  Does he really think joining  _show choir_  is going to stop that from happening again?  
  
You don’t care that your son is gay; you just wish he wouldn’t  _act_  gay.  You don’t want him to get hurt again.  Blaine’s lucky; he doesn’t  _look_ obviously queer.  He can pass as straight, and really, there’s no need to go  _looking_  for trouble, is there?  
  
(It also makes you uncomfortable, but you don’t really want to admit that.)  
  
So you do what you can.  You compliment him on the things you think he should be working on (boxing, fencing, polo, school) and you try not to talk about the things you think he shouldn’t (art, singing).  
  
You wish it wasn’t so hard to talk to your son, but what can you do?  You just want him to be safe.  
  
(You just want him to not be gay, really.)

 

* * *

  
14

  
Blaine is right: the Warblers really are sort of like rock stars.  They’re really good, and Cooper’s never really thought of a capella pop before, but somehow, they make it awesome.  
  
They lose  _spectacularly_  to group called Vocal Adrenaline, who, from what Cooper can tell via a quick search on his phone, are the best show choir group in the nation.  
  
That doesn’t mean that watching Blaine’s face fall isn’t heartbreaking, of course, but, well, if you have to lose to somebody, it might as well be the best of the best, right?  
  
And Blaine’s still happy to see them afterwards.  
  
“You  _came_.” And he sounds so  _happy_ , so proud and eager to please, like a child showing off his best scribbles.  
  
Cooper ruffles his hair as Maria hugs him tightly.  “Of course we did.  It turns out there still isn’t anything cool to do in Lima on a Saturday.  And I believe I was promised a rock star performance, so, you know, worth the drive.”  
  
Blaine’s smile is so optimistic it could cure cancer.  “I  _told_  you!  Aren’t we good?”  
  
“You were very good, baby,” Maria coos, straightening Blaine’s hair back with her hand.  “I just wish I could have heard you sing more.  You blended in the background there too much for my tastes.”  
  
“You’ll probably hear a lot from him next year,” And—oh, they aren’t alone back here, right.  A tall Asian teen in a matching blazer holds his hand out for Cooper to take.  “Wes Montgomery.  I’m Blaine’s big brother mentor at Dalton.”  
  
Cooper laughs, and shakes his hand.  “Cooper Anderson, Blaine’s  _actual_  big brother.”  
  
Wes smiles.  “A pleasure.”  
  
“We’re so grateful to you for looking after Blaine.” Maria offers diplomatically, one arm wrapped around Blaine like she’s still a little scared to let him go.  
  
But Wes just shakes her off.  “Blaine’s been nothing less than a gift to Dalton.  Like I said, you’ll probably hear a lot from him next year—I’m thinking about making him our lead soloist.”  
  
Blaine’s eyes go so wide Cooper thought they’d fall out of his skull.    
  
Wes just laughs at him.  “You’ll have to audition first, of course, but you’ve got a pretty amazing voice.  If we have to go up against Vocal Adrenaline again next year, it’s probably a good idea to have our best up front.  And you, Blaine, are definitely one of our best.”  
  
And Cooper—this is how Cooper knows Blaine’s almost grown up and doesn’t need him anymore.  Blaine doesn’t jump up and down, or get really excited, or any of the ways Cooper would expect a fifteen-year-old boy to react to getting such news.  
  
Instead, he says: “I’ll do my best to make you proud, Wes.”  
  
If it wasn’t for the way the light shined in his eyes, Cooper would have thought he didn’t even want to be the soloist, he seemed so…formal.  Like a robot, almost.  Dalton-Bot 3000, Blaine edition, with not a curl out of place and a tie done up so neatly that most grown professionals would be jealous.  
  
But then he’s laughing and carrying on in the car on the way to lunch afterwards, so Cooper just chalks it up to Blaine maturing before his time again, and then doesn’t think about it at all.

* * *

  
15

  
Maria is teaching Blaine how to drive this summer.  
  
He’s sixteen and doesn’t have a permit, because when he was of age to actually  _get_  a permit, he was either in a coma or at Dalton and it didn’t matter because he wasn’t driving anywhere, anyway.  
  
Mark finds other things to keep him busy, for the most part.  It’s not hard, especially since Cooper seems to have thrived in Chicago  It’s not the career he would have chosen for his oldest son, but he has to admit, Cooper must be very, very good, if he’s landed a steady commercial role.  
  
Maria—and he loves Maria, even when she is something of a hardass—corners him regardless of how busy he is.  
  
“When we got married,” she tells him, late one night when they’re getting ready for bed, “you promised to always give me a hundred percent.”  
  
He stops taking off his shoes and  _looks_  at her.  “What do you mean?  I always give you a hundred percent.”  
  
She takes off her pearls and sets them in her jewelry box.  “Let me rephrase that.  When we got married, you promised to always give me  _and Blaine_  a hundred percent.  A hundred and  _ten_  percent, actually, if I remember correctly.”  
  
He takes his socks off very, very carefully.  “I’ve been busy.”  
  
“He thinks you hate him.” She takes off her earrings, slides off her dress.  “Do you?”  
  
“No!” He takes off his tie, tossing it in the general direction of the laundry basket.  “He’s my  _son_.” Like that explains everything, can accompany all the unconditional love and misaimed disappointment he feels about Blaine in a single sentence.  
  
“Then explain to me, please, why a sixteen year old boy would think his father  _hated_  him?” Maria snaps, and, oh Lord, he’s in doghouse, big time.  “When was the last time you two even  _talked?_ ”  
  
 _Last summer.  We tried to rebuild a car together and it didn’t work._   He doesn’t say that, though: instead he looks at his toenails like they’re the most interesting things in the world.  “I really have been busy.”  
  
“With  _what_ , Mark?  What on Earth can be more important to you than your son?”  
  
Nothing, actually.  Mark does stupid things sometimes but there is nothing in this world he wouldn’t do for his family.  “We’ve been busy at the office.  We don’t have Cooper there to play intern anymore.  We’re short staffed.”  
  
Maria’s eyes gleam like she’s just thought of the most brilliant idea in the entire world.  “Why don’t you hire Blaine, then?”  
  
Mark stares at her like she’s gone insane.  
  
“Think about it!  I’ve done that job before—making copies, answering the phone, filing things—Blaine could do it!  He’s sixteen; he’s old enough!  And it would be such a great bonding experience for you both--he could practice driving you to work, even!”  
  
Mark…doesn’t think that’s a good idea, really, but he’s never been able to deny Maria anything, so he just nods like he agrees, and says he’ll talk to Blaine about it in the morning.

 

* * *

 

16

Blaine is…not a bad driver, not really, but he’s sixteen with a learner’s permit, and so scares his father half to death every time he gets behind the wheel.  There is a  _reason_  Maria is the one to teach him how to drive, for reasons stronger than Mark just doesn’t know how to talk to his son.

“Slow down.” “Speed up.” “Pass that guy.” “ _Don’t_  pass that guy.” “JESUS CHRIST, BLAINE, DON’T HIT THE TREE!”

Needless to say, it is a very stressful drive to work for the father and son.

Once they make it to the office, though, things settle in rather peacefully.  It’s probably not the bonding experience Maria had hoped it would be, but it’s nice enough.  Mark’s coworkers are kind and tease Blaine good-naturedly, asking him whether he’s going to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a lawyer as well.

Blaine’s responding smile is fake and almost painful for Mark to watch.  “I’m not sure yet!  Guess we’ll wait and see!”

His coworkers are also good about taking turns letting Blaine drive them to the Lima Bean for their midmorning coffee break.  The funniest part about that for Mark is that suddenly now  _Blaine_  drinks coffee, which Mark finds absolutely bizarre and sort of hilarious.  What sort of sixteen-year-old drinks  _coffee_ , especially something as plain and boring as a medium drip?

(It’s Mark’s own drink of choice, of course; he never quite makes the connection that, maybe Blaine is only drinking the coffee because he’s hoping to impress  _him_.)

Mostly, though, Blaine’s job is very, very  _boring_ , which is sort of why Mark waited so long before filling the position.  The phone doesn’t ring that often, and while there are things to file and copy, there are long stretches of time in which nothing really happens, and it makes for a dull job. 

Finally, Blaine breaks down one day and asks if he can paint.

“What do you mean?”

Blaine blushes, but stays focused on the road for the drive home.  “At work, I mean.  During the down time.”

It’s a stupid idea, but Mark sighs anyway. “I suppose, Blaine, if you must.  Don’t make a mess.”

He’s not sure what he’s expecting after that, but it’s not walking out to the front of the office to find Blaine kneeled in front of a small model car, painstakingly painting minute details in the coating.

“Is that a ’64 Impala you’re working on there=?”  Mark asks, genuinely surprised and reaching out as best he can.  “That’s a good car.  Very masculine and…cool.”

Blaine blinks at him.  “I have no idea.  I just like to paint them.”

Oh.

_Oh._

He’s an idiot.

“Is that…is that something you like to do, then?”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, putting down his paintbrush gently.  “I don’t know anything about cars, but I like painting them.” He gestures with his hand, making circles in the air.  “After…after the accident, I’m not really coordinated enough to do much on a canvas, but I can still do models pretty well.”

He looks at the tiny, tiny details Blaine has painstakingly added to the cars—license plate numbers, fuzzy dice, textures and shines—and says “You seem pretty coordinated with that thing.”

Blaine shrugs. “Maybe it’s just a mental block, then.”

 

* * *

 

17

He sells the Chevy by the end of the summer.  Blaine drives himself to Dalton in his mother’s station wagon.

 

* * *

 

18

Come November, Cooper is pretty settled in a life of the rich and the famous commercial star.  He’s sort of in love with Los Angeles, with the lights and the fame, and he’s made a lot of friends fast.  And, well, a new city means new girls, something of which Cooper has  _always_  been a fan.

Steady relationships aren’t really his thing.

What is interesting, though, is that, come November, someone steady begins appearing on  _Blaine’s_  Facebook a lot.

Cooper isn’t sure who Kurt Hummel is, but apparently his baby brother is sort of insanely in love with him.  He’s in every picture Blaine posts; he’s in every status update, every comment, every link.

It’s not that Blaine has never had friends before; it’s just that, the friends Blaine  _has_  had have always been more of what Cooper would call casual acquaintances.  He’s never really had a best friend before, the type of person you tell everything and know they won’t judge you.  And now that he has one, it seems he’s gotten sort of clingy.

And Kurt, whoever the hell he is, soaks that shit up like butter.

“So when’s the wedding?” He claps Blaine on the shoulders, making him jump.  It’s Christmas vacation time and the first time Cooper’s been back in Ohio for a while.  He has to make the most of his torture-brother time, especially since Blaine’s gone and done something stupid, like get a job for the holidays. 

(Cooper’s also smart enough to know that the holiday job is mostly just an excuse to spend as little time at home as possible).  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“You  _do_  know,” Cooper teases, sitting down next to Blaine on the couch.  It’s just the two of them at the moment--the parents are gone to some holiday party, whatever, Cooper wasn’t paying attention.  All that matters is that the Xbox gets to be on the big screen and there’s no one around to tell them not to. “That boy you’re always talking about on Facebook?  I think his name starts with a K or something?”  
  
“Oh.” Blaine says, arms tucked around himself, passing the controller to Cooper.  “You mean Kurt.”  
  
“That’s the name.” Cooper grins, nudging his brother with his shoulder.  “Is he your boyfriend or something? I hope you’re fucking, if nothing else.”  
  
“What? No--no, Cooper, he’s my  _friend._ ”  
  
“Your  _gay_  friend.”  
  
Blaine glares at him.  “Two gay guys can be friends, Cooper.”  
  
“I know  _that_ \--I just want to know why you aren’t fucking.  Get on that.”  
  
Blaine frowns at him.  “We’re just  _friends_ , Cooper.  We carpool together--he lives in Lima, too, so we ride together from Dalton for the weekend.”  
  
Cooper raises his eyebrow suspiciously.  “Ohhh--so  _that’s_ why you keep coming home for the weekends.  Maria said you were spending more time around the house recently.  She thought you were mad at someone at Dalton or something, but no, you’re just a really, really clingy boyfriend.”  
  
“ _Just friends!”_  
  
“Whatever.  God, you probably spend your time painting each other’s nails or some girly shit like that.”  
  
Blaine glares.  “We get coffee and go shopping, usually.”  
  
Cooper winks at him.  “And when he’s doing something else, you sit at home and play Zelda, waiting for him to call you.”  
  
“...Shut up.”  
  
“H- ha, I’m right.” Cooper grins as his character dies, and passes the controller back to Blaine.  “I still don’t understand why you aren’t fucking, though.  I mean, I always thought that was the advantage to being gay.  You’re both dudes, you should be fucking all the time.”  
  
Blaine exhaled.  “Do you try to make every single thing you say be as offensive as possible, or is it just something that occurs naturally?”  
  
Cooper merely shrugs.  “Whatever.  Is it his dick?  Does he have an ugly dick, and that’s why you don’t want to date him?”  
  
Blaine throws a pillow at Cooper’s head.

* * *

  
  
19

  
  
He feels vindicated come March, though, when Blaine finally updates his Facebook information.  
  
 **Blaine Anderson**  is in a relationship with  **Kurt Hummel**.  
                                                                        23 people like this.  
  
He should start planning a trip back to Ohio soon.  He may need to meet this kid.  
  
(That doesn’t, of course, stop him from sending Blaine a text.   _Congrats, bro.  You fucking yet?_  
  
Blaine’s response is, as always,  _Go to hell._ )

 

* * *

  
20

  
  
Blaine doesn’t tell his parents that he has a boyfriend in the same way he never told his parents he was gay but that doesn’t mean that they don’t  _know._   It’s hard not to know, the way every other word out of Blaine’s mouth is about  _Kurt,_ or the way his eyes light up when he talks about Kurt, or the fact that he’s really never home anymore.  
  
So it comes as a surprise, then, when he sits them one evening in early May, and tells them that he’s going to prom.  With his boyfriend.  
  
“Absolutely not.” Mark says immediately, in such a frank, end-of-discussion tone that Blaine’s face immediately falls.    
  
That, of course, gets two sets of identical gold-colored eyes trained on him in an instant.  
  
“Dad--”  
  
 _“Mark.”_  
  
“Absolutely not,” He repeats to both of them before turning his attention fully to Blaine.  “Are you  _stupid?_   Do you not remember what they did to you last time?”  He snaps his fingers, imitating how very, very close they were to losing Blaine entirely.  “Are you  _trying_  to get hospitalized again?”  
  
What he wants to ask is:  _Are you really this suicidal?  I thought you were happy now, finally._  
  
Blaine doesn’t look him in the eye, instead stares at his shoes like they’re the most interesting shoes in all of creation.  “It will be different, this time.”  
  
“ _How,_  Blaine?  How will it be different?”  Because all Mark can think of is how Blaine looked when they brought him in, with all the blood leaking out of him and the doctors telling them that there was a chance he wouldn’t ever wake up.  
  
Blaine looks up slowly, his hands folded in his lap like a little girl’s.  “We’re older.  We can drive ourselves, and we won’t--we won’t be waiting around by ourselves in a dark parking lot. Kurt’s brother and his friends will be there; they won’t let anything happen to us.  I’m--”  _I’m not a scared little boy anymore._   “I--It’ll be different.”  
  
“This is  _insane_.”  
  
“Blaine,” Maria says, quietly, taking one of his hands into her own and squeezing it gently.  “My baby.  Are you sure this is what you want?”  
  
Blaine swallows a lump in his throat, and smiles.  “I’m sure, Mama.  I want to go to prom with Kurt.”  
  
She smiles, and kisses his forehead gently.  “Then you have our permission, darling.”  
  
Mark nearly kicks the coffee table over.  “He absolutely does  _not_  have our permission!”  
  
Maria rolls her eyes.  “Mark...”  
  
“I  _will_ lock him in his bedroom--don’t think I won’t.”  
  
Maria pats the seat beside her on the couch, and Mark doesn’t  _want_  to sit down, he’s  _angry_ and  _scared_ \--but he does what she wants regardless.  She places her other hand on top of his and squeezes.  “Darling, he’s not a little boy anymore.”  
  
“What are you talking about?  Of course he is.  He’s  _sixteen--_ ”  
  
“I’m seventeen, Dad.”  
  
“--seventeen then, I don’t care.  You’re still my son and I--” He pauses and looks over at Blaine, breathes in deep.  “I don’t want you to get hurt again.”  
  
Blaine smiles sadly.  “I won’t, Dad.  Kurt will be there.”  
  
“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t reassure me.  I’ve never even met this Kurt kid, how am I supposed to trust him to look after you?”  
  
Maria’s eyes brighten.  “There’s an idea.  Blaine, why don’t you and Kurt stop by here before prom, so your father can meet Kurt and I can take some pictures of you both?”

Blaine nods slowly, still a little unnerved.  “That’s--okay, Mama, I can do that.”

* * *

  
  
21

  
“So you’ve met this boy, then?”  
  
“His name is Kurt, darling.”  Maria smiles, fiddling with her camera while waiting for Blaine and his boyfriend to get back from dinner.  “And yes, once or twice.  He’s very sweet.”  
  
“Sweet, huh?  And gay, I guess.” He swallows nervously.  “Will I like him?”  
  
“I think you will not like him at all, at first.” Maria tells him plainly, taking a few sample shots of various things in the kitchen to check the settings on her camera.  “Then I think he will surprise you.”  
  
“Wonderful.”  He looks out the kitchen window and breathes.  “Maria, they’re here.”  
  
She pats his hand gently, like she might a child’s.  “Don’t be nervous--they’re just teenagers.  I promise they won’t bite, much.”

  
The front door opens, and in stumbles Blaine and his boyfriend, laughing.  “Mom, Dad, we’re home!”  
  
“We’re in the kitchen, darling.”  
  
He hears more giggling, and then a whispered  _Don’t be nervous!_  before they step into the entranceway and--  
  
Oh.  
  
That’s a skirt.  
  
That’s a boy wearing a skirt, and holding his son’s hand.  
  
“Kurt Hummel,” says the boy in a skirt, holding out his hand for Mark to shake.  “I’m Blaine’s boyfriend.”  
  
It takes everything in Mark to just shake this boy’s hand, and not punch him in the face, throw Blaine over his shoulder and lock him in his room.    
  
Mark ( _grimaces_ ) smiles.  “Mark Anderson.”  
  
The boy in a skirt smiles in return.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”  
  
“Oh, you boys look so handsome!” Maria exclaims, taking over the conversation and pulling Kurt into a hug.  “Let me take some pictures!”  
  
And does she ever take pictures.  There are pictures taken with the boys on the staircase, by the front door, by the fireplaces, of the boys together, of Blaine by himself.  
  
He’s grateful for the distraction, though.  
  
“That boy is wearing a  _skirt_ ,” he whispers to his wife, his voice high and uneasy.  “Maria, our baby is going to get knifed in the parking lot of a public school because he went to prom with a transvestite.”  
  
 _“Mark,_ ” she whispers back, scandalized.  ”You can’t say things like that.”  
  
“I just don’t understand.  If he wanted to date someone wearing a skirt, why can’t he just date a girl? That’s far less likely to get him killed, especially at a public school in Ohio.”  
  
“I don’t think Kurt is a transvestite,” Maria muses as the boys flit around in the background.  ”I’ve seen him wear boy clothes.  I think he’s just very…fashionable.  And besides, I think that’s a kilt.  That’s menswear, right?”  
  
“Oh, so he’s just  _trying_  to get him and Blaine killed instead, is that it?”  
  
“Mark,” her eyes flash, “be nice.”  
  
“I  _am_  being nice,” he whines in protest.  ”I haven’t kicked that boy out of my house and barricaded Blaine in his room yet.  That’s me being  _very_  nice.”

Around that time, Blaine turns his attention back to his parents.  “We probably need to leave now, Mama, so we won’t be late.”

“Okay,” Maria says, kissing his cheek.  “You have your phone?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“And your keys?’

“Yes, Mama.”

“And you’ll call us if anything—and I mean  _anything_ —goes wrong?”

“Yes, Mama.”

She kisses him again for good measure.  “I love you.  Be safe.  Have fun!”

 “Be home by midnight.”

It is the first time that he can ever recall giving Blaine a curfew.  That, perhaps, explains the shocked look on his face.

“Or he’ll turn into a pumpkin?” the boy in the skirt winks. “Don’t worry--I’ll have him back before midnight.”

Mark smiles, and thinks that, in different circumstances, he might actually like this kid. 

 

* * *

 

22

Mark Anderson doesn’t sleep that night.

Neither does Blaine, for that matter, but for entirely different reasons.

 

* * *

 

23

 

“I’m glad Blaine’s dating that boy.”  Maria tells him, late that night because neither of them are sleeping.  Blaine’s home now, safe and sound in bed, but the nerves from before are still keeping them awake, hours later. 

“I’m not.” Mark grumbles, and thinks of all the awful ways this night could have ended.

Maria laughs, and kisses him on the cheek.  “You just don’t like him because he wore a kilt to prom.”

“I think he’s dangerous,” Mark admits.  “And I think he’s naïve, and that’s going to get him killed one day. And, knowing our luck, Blaine will go down with him.”

“I think he’s brave,” Maria argues, her long black curls lying against her pillow.  “And I think he makes Blaine brave, in return.  I never thought Blaine would have wanted to go to a dance again, especially after what happened after the last one.”

Mark doesn’t say anything, but then again, he doesn’t have to.  Maria knows how he feels about this.

(Because if it had been up to Mark alone, Blaine wouldn’t have gone.  Blaine’s  _very_  lucky he has his mother around to argue for his cause.)

“That, and sometimes I regret sending Blaine to private schools his entire life.”

That catches Mark’s attention.  “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  There are some advantages to public school, you know?”  She smiles, and pokes her husband gently in the nose.  “Prom, for one thing, which I’m glad he got to go to regardless.  Wearing what you want every day--I wouldn’t even know what Blaine looks like if he did.  He has so few clothes outside of his uniform that he doesn’t really have his own style, or his own identity.  Having girlfriends,” Mark makes a face at that, and Maria laughs.  “Oh, not like that--I don’t wish he was straight.  I just think he could use a couple of female friends.  When he was at Lima Catholic, he was still at that age when girls were icky, you know?  And now that he’s older, he’s at Dalton, where there are no girls at all.”

“He never grew out of thinking girls are icky; that’s why we’re in this mess,” Mark grumbles, and Maria laughs and pinches him playfully. “Ow!  I’m serious.  So what do you want to do? Stop sending him to Dalton?”

“No.  I want Dalton for as long as Blaine wants Dalton.”  She kisses her husband gently.  “But if he ever stops wanting Dalton, well—McKinley is not a  _bad_  school.”

“McKinley is a  _terrible_  school,” Mark argues.  “They focus entirely too much on sports, and he won’t get accepted into as many colleges if he graduates from McKinley, and I want Blaine to--”

Maria kisses him again, effectively shutting him up mid-sentence.  “There is more to life, my love, than where you went to school, or the quality of your education.  And I think Blaine knows that.”

Mark rolls on his side and looks at her.  “You think Blaine would do that?  You think he’d want to leave Dalton for that boy?”

His wife nods.  “I think he loves him.  And I think Blaine will do anything to be with the one he loves.”

“You really think it’s that serious?  His first high school boyfriend, and he’s just going to—what, rearrange his whole life around him?”

Maria looks at him, softly.  “I saw him, earlier today with Kurt.  You were…rather focused on the skirt, I think.  And he was smiling, Mark.  He was so happy-- _genuinely_ happy.  And I haven’t seen him smile like that since before the dance.”

“So he loves him.”

She smiles. “I think you should start liking Kurt Hummel, darling.  I think he’s going to be around for a very, very long time.”

 

* * *

 

24

Summer comes and goes, and before too long, it’s back-to-school time.  Not that it really matters to Cooper—he’s out of school by now, and good riddance.  Thank God he never has to deal with that headache ever again. 

He’s a little surprised, however, when Blaine calls him on what should be his second day at Dalton, at one o’clock in the afternoon.

He answers the phone with a smile.  “Skipping school already?  I knew there was a deviant in you somewhere.”

Blaine laughs in his ear.  “Hello to you too, Big Brother.  And no, I’m not skipping school.  I’m—I’m actually on the way to school, believe it or not.”

“Oh?  Has Dalton started offering night classes or something?”

He can see Blaine smiling in his mind.  “Actually, I’m not at Dalton anymore.  As soon as I turn these papers in, I’ll be a McKinley student.”

Cooper whistles.  “Dad know?”

“I guess.  I don’t know.  Mom knows, though; she signed the papers.”

“Well, good for you.  Loverboy know you’re that clingy?”

“I’m not  _clingy_.”

Cooper laughs.  “Baby bro, I hate to tell you this, but you’re transferring schools in order to be with your high school boyfriend.  I think that’s the  _definition_  of clingy.”  He rubs his forehead with a chuckle.  “God, you are like a combination of my absolute worse high school girlfriends.  Good job, Blaine.”

“I’m doing it for me, too, you know.” Blaine huffs, a little less amused than Cooper thinks he ought to be. 

“Of course you are.  What, you need a chance to ‘find yourself’ or something?”

“A little bit,” Blaine confesses, humor in his voice.  “I mean, I realized in class today that I have absolutely no idea who I am when I’m not wearing this uniform.” He groans. “Oh God, that sounds terrible, doesn’t it?  I can’t tell Kurt that.  Help me think of a better line.”

Cooper rolls his eyes, but smiles into his phone.  He loves his little brother.  “Just tell him that you love him and can’t stand to be apart from him--he’ll love it, just like he loves the rest of your clingy, emotionally-codependent butt.”

“A) not clingy.  B) Yes, yes he will, thank you.”

Cooper laughs before sobering up. “Personally, I’m glad to hear you’re leaving Dalton.  I mean, it’s a good school, don’t get me wrong, and I’ll always be grateful they kept you safe, but I always thought it made you something of a robot.  Dalton-bot 3000 or something.”

“I was thinking the Human Jukebox, but Dalton-bot 3000  _does_  have a nice ring to it.”

Cooper grins into the phone.  “So, tell me, have you done it yet?”

“Cooper!”

“What?  You’ve been dating for months now.  Tell me you’ve at  _least_  gotten to third base.”

He can practically  _hear_  Blaine blushing.  “I—we’re waiting for the right time.”

“What? That’s stupid.  Why would you do that?”  Cooper teases cruelly.  “Oh God, is it the dick thing? Does he have a weird-shaped cock that he doesn’t want you to see?  What if it’s funny looking? Blaine, does your boyfriend have a funny-looking penis?”

“Oh my  _God_  I’m not talking to you anymore.  Goodbye, Cooper!”

Cooper is laughing too hard to say goodbye back.

 

* * *

 

25

Epilogue

 

Late one night in November, Cooper gets a text message from Blaine.

_For the record, his penis is not weird-shaped, broken, or funny-looking.  It’s beautiful. <3_

Cooper buys airplane tickets the next morning.  April is a good time to fly, right?  He should have some time off by then.

Apparently, this relationship is serious, and he needs to meet this boy already.

* * *

 

END

 


End file.
